For Life
by Moonlight Phoenix1
Summary: Sam is turned into a vampire. Dean is torn between the two choices he has: kill his brother, no, the monster that has taken his place, and lose Sam forever, or don't. Sam picks for him.


A/N: Well. Here's another one-shot. I know, I know I should really continue my stories rather than post up new things, but I just can't help it! This one's not amazing (not that any others are, but you know) and might not be spot-on with the whole vampire knowledge thing, mainly because in 'Supernatural' they're not entirely clear on the whole 'vampires and the soul' malarky, so there are a fair number of assumptions made here. In any case, please read, review, and tell me if you liked it or not.

Warnings: Bloodshed, swearing, Wincesty.

Disclaimer: I own neither vampires, nor Sam, nor Dean.

* * *

For Life

* * *

"Dean?" 

Dean knows something is wrong. Has known it ever since he freed himself from the ropes that bound him two hours ago, cut off the heads of the couple of vampires 'guarding' him and ran outside to find his brother behind the warehouse, almost close enough to kiss the female vampire holding him by his neck.

Sam had managed to get out a knife, a huge one, and had held it by the handle with one hand and at the point with the other, and slid it clean across the vampire's neck, the female dropping dead at his feet.

Dean can't recall seeing blood on Sam's hand, now that he thinks about it. And there _must_ have been, from the strength he was exerting on the point of the blade to cut the vampire's head off.

But at the time Dean wasn't really thinking about that, all he was thinking was, _Sam, Sam's safe, Sam's safe, we've gotta get outta here!_ as they got to the car and drove away before the rest of the vampires could come back.

"Dean?" Sam repeats beside him, and Dean just pushes the gas harder.

He should have put some damn music on. Maybe then it would block out Sam's voice and his thoughts.

As a hunter, Dean is constantly alert, _always_. As a brother, Dean is constantly aware of Sam's actions and movements, _always_. As a regular guy, Dean doesn't know what the hell to do.

He knows that there's something strange, something wrong. His skin is … humming. He can just … feel it.

Sam sounds weird and Sam's eyes keep darting to his brother, and Sam's been swallowing beside him _way_ too often.

"_Dean_," Sam hisses, and Dean imagines that Sam has a snake tongue, and then Sam's hand is on his shoulder, a firm weight.

"I'm drivin'," Dean mutters, unsure why he doesn't want to look at his brother.

"Dean, there's a motel up there, about three or four minutes. We're stopping, OK? We need rest." Sam's tone is firm, no-nonsense.

It's pitch black and Dean can barely even see beyond what the headlights of his car are illuminating, and up until now, that was about the same extent of Sam's vision.

Dean drives faster.

* * *

They get to the motel and dump their stuff on their beds, and Sam's face is pale and he looks ill and he can't stop staring at Dean, and Dean decisively tries to ignore it, but then Sam stands right behind him, bends down slightly until his lips are just grazing Dean's neck and breathes in, and Dean just _can't_. 

"Shit, Sammy," he says, taking a few steps away and turning around, and is embarrassed at how his heart beat speeds up and at the inexplicable fear in his chest, "what the hell's the matter with you?"

Sam's eyes are fixed on the same part of Dean's body they've been fixed on for the past twenty minutes, and Dean finally looks at his eyes and sees.

Dean wants to scream and cry and break things, but he doesn't.

"Dude," is all he can say, and sits heavily on the bed.

Sam twitches and licks his lips.

Dean doesn't know what to do.

He really and truly does not know what to do.

It's a new experience for him.

"It's OK, Dean," Sam says, and Dean doubts there's ever been a time when it's been less OK, including Sam's sixth month birthday and when Dean came to get him at Stanford. "It's OK," and he licks those lips again, "I'll go."

Dean swallows down the almost automatic urge he has to scream _DON'T LEAVE ME_ and instead nods stiffly, his senses alert although he is so tired and beaten, and his hands itching, just _itching_ to hold a weapon, as they usually do when he is in the presence of a supernatural creature.

But this isn't a supernatural creature. This is Sam. Sam, his Sammy, his _brother_.

Sam can't take his eyes away from Dean's neck.

After one minute of silence, Sam gets up, gives Dean a brief smile, and exits the room.

Dean sits on the bed with his hands balled up into fists and taking in great big gulps of air, the air he doubts his brother needs anymore.

No. _No_. Not Sammy, not good, lovely, wonderful Sammy, no, _why, why?_

Dean makes sure to stay up all night waiting for his brother's return, because there's no point in running (_once a vampire gets your scent, it's for life_), and come morning, Dean knows he has two choices, but the problem is, he doesn't know which one to pick.

* * *

Sam returns just after dawn, looking slightly less pale but more tired, nods at Dean, and just collapses on a bed and falls asleep almost immediately. 

Dean swallows down the bile in his throat and tries to pretend he didn't see that speck (tiny, _tiny_ speck) of blood on Sam's collar that he knows (just _knows_) does not belong to Sam.

Shit. Shit. Shit. What does he do now?

Oh, Dean knows what he _should _do. Knows damn well. Knows what he _would_ do, if it were anyone else, anyone other than _Sam_ (but it's not Sam, it's just a soulless thing wearing his body, and don't you forget it).

Dean can't even cry for shock, and it's been about six hours.

If Dean can only get himself to focus on the fact that this is a _thing_, a _thing_, no longer Sam, _no longer_ the brother that he loves and cares for and protects, this is something with no soul _masquerading_ as his brother, and dammit, Dean should be angry, Dean should be fucking furious and should destroy it, he should get that damn knife out from under the pillow he hasn't slept on yet and decapitate this bastard before he massacres the whole motel, the whole town, whatever, he should _kill this creature_ …

Just then Sam-or-the-thing-wearing-his-body does this little snort in his sleep, and Dean's hands are shaking because that is _Sam_, that, right there, is such a _Sam_ thing to do that Dean can't understand how he's supposed to be expected to waste this creature when it's so like Sam that it hurts.

What is he supposed to do?

* * *

Dean jerks awake and curses, he didn't realise he'd fall asleep, what an undeniably _stupid_ thing to do with a _vampire_ sleeping right the- 

Sam is gone. Sam is gone.

Dean's mind starts to panic and his body shifts into 'find Sammy' mode before Dean remembers what Sam is now and what he's gone out to do.

Dean jumps when Sam comes out of the bathroom.

"Sorry I scared ya'," Sam smiles sheepishly.

Dean shakes his head dumbly, and his hand inches down to their bag of weapons slowly, just for something to protect himself with, and Sam laughs.

"Come on, dude, don't be weird about this." Dean freezes. "And hey," Sam grins, all sunshine and light and Dean's heart swells and then bursts when Sam holds up the bag of weaponry and laughs, "I wouldn't be so stupid as to trust you with this."

"Didn't seem to mind when you were sleeping," Dean forces out of his dry mouth.

Sam chuckles.

"Well, I was tired, long night, y'know?"

Dean flinches and hates himself.

"Look, Dean, this silent and broody thing doesn't really work for you," Sam's smile softens. "I thought that was my area."

And it _is_ still your area, Dean wants to yell, well, it _would_ be if you were still really you and had a soul! Then you'd be freaking out about this!

Sam sighs when Dean doesn't reply.

"Dude, I know you're getting all weirded out by this – and believe me, I know it's _weird_ – but I really can't handle you when you're all …" Sam gestures with his hands and makes a face, "emo."

Dean can't say a word. Sam has never called him emo. Sam doesn't use that word.

Sam sighs again.

"I get that you're confused and in shock, but really, Dean, this isn't that big a deal."

"Not that big a deal? _Not that big a deal?_ You're a fucking _vampire_, Sammy, how is that not that big a deal?" Dean shouts out before he can stop himself, and the sudden surge of anger is welcomed and then resented, as it moves Dean that much closer to the breakdown that's bound to come any moment now.

Sam looks surprised, and a bit hurt.

Dean hates that he feels guilty, but he can't help it, this is his _brother_.

After a few moments of silence, Sam narrows his eyes and says, "You know, you really shouldn't take that tone with me, Dean. I don't like it."

For the first time in his life, Dean feels in danger around his brother.

In a few seconds, Sam is in Dean's face and Dean hits him, but then Sam strikes back _harder_, and then he smirks (_smirks_) before knocking Dean (who doesn't know what to do apart from freeze) out cold.

* * *

When Dean comes to, he is tied to a chair ('not again' he groans in his head) and there is a young woman tied to the chair opposite him.

Sam is standing behind her, smiling.

Dean's blood feels like it's made of ice.

"Sammy," he says. The woman is whimpering in fear. He tries to move his arms and legs, but his limbs are tied to the chair too damn tightly. He can feel the rope burn already. "Sammy, don't do this. You're not a killer, Sammy, you're a good person, and you can't just-"

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Dean. I think I stopped listening to you when I was fourteen." Sam's smile widens.

"Come on, Sam," Dean begs with his eyes as well as his mouth, "just let the girl go."

Sam laughs his laugh, but this is no longer Sam.

"Always thinking of others before yourself, Dean, how typical." Sam's smile fades away. "And utterly annoying." He walks across the room to Dean, and puts his face right in front of his brother's.

Dean can't look into Sam's eyes because Sam's eyes are fixed on the pulse point of his neck.

"You should have more self-worth, Dean," Sam whispers.

"Where was all this sentimental bullshit when you were alive?" Dean snarls, and shakes his chair, trying to get out of his binds.

Sam straightens.

"I _am_ alive. And just because I didn't say it, doesn't mean it wasn't there."

Dean would like to think that the silence following that statement is profound and full of meaning, but there is no silence because the woman is whimpering and Dean is breathing heavily and Sam isn't breathing at all. Because Sam's not alive, Dean tells himself. Sam is _dead_. _This is not Sam_.

Sam smiles, a small little smile like he knows what Dean's thinking.

He backs away from his brother and puts a hand on the woman's head. He bends down slowly, not taking his eyes away from Dean's (at least he's looking in his eyes now), until his mouth is level with the woman's neck.

"Don't do it, Sammy," Dean whispers, and is suddenly so scared he stops struggling against the rope binding him to the chair.

He's not sure what effect his words will have, doubts that there'll be any effect, _knows_ that it's downright _stupid_ to try to rationalise with fucking Sam-the-vampire when sometimes it was damn near impossible to rationalise with Sam-the-human.

The moment he thinks that, Dean practically chokes on his own tongue, and not for the first time he wishes that he wasn't a human himself and therefore could not feel, and therefore could not cry, as he is sure he will in a few moments.

"Please don't hurt me," the blonde woman tied to the chair across from Dean whispers, and Sam smirks before his face contorts and he hisses and his fucking _teeth_ fall out (_a second set descends when they attack_), leaving sharp, canine fangs in their wake, the woman screams, and then stops screaming, because Sam bites right into the side of her neck, a perfect angle so that Dean can see, and Dean struggles against the rope like a madman and shouts out and feels the tears pour out of his eyes like a fucking waterfall, and he can't stop himself, because this is his little brother Sammy draining a human through her artery and Dean never thought this would happen.

Once the woman is dead, Sam looks up at Dean – into his eyes – and grins a big, wide, Sam grin, his mouth covered in blood.

Dean cries more and then he throws up, mostly on the floor, but also on himself.

Sam wipes his own mouth with the back of his hand, smearing the blood that he doesn't manage to remove, approaches his brother, and unties the ropes binding him to the chair.

Dean looks up at him with what he knows should be disbelief, but feels a little more like defeat and sags forward slightly, feeling drained.

"Well, go on, then, Dean." Dean can't tear his eyes away from the red around his brother's … no, the _vampire's_ mouth. "You've seen what I am, what I do," Sam smirks and throws him the bag of weapons, which Dean catches in his arms automatically, still sitting in the chair like a fool although he's been untied.

What the hell is going on? What does Sam expect him to _do_?

Sam is still grinning that bloody smile.

"Kill me."

* * *

This is happening too fast toofastandDeancan'tcope.

* * *

_Choice One_

Dean stands up slowly, clutching the bag to himself foolishly as a child would clutch a teddy bear, never taking his eyes away from the blood around Sam's-_the vampire's_ mouth.

He glances at the dead woman in the chair, her eyes closed and her body still and pale, blood crusting around her neck (Sam sucked her dry).

It strengthens his resolve.

Dean forces his eyes to soften, his face to turn into an expression of sorrow.

"You know I can't, Sammy," he whispers, and tries not to shudder as he calls the thing in front of him by his brother's name.

Sam nods, looking pleased with himself.

"I knew you'd see it my way, Dean!" he says triumphantly, and grins a Sam grin which has Dean almost flinching before he remembers himself.

He nods stiffly and says, "But don't go hugging me or anything, dude. Just 'cause I can't kill you doesn't mean I'm about to turn into a chick."

Sam's grin widens, and Dean sighs audibly, still holding the bag in his arms.

"I'll go make us some coffee," he says tiredly. "And as much as I hate the chick-flicks, we're gonna have to talk about what we're going to do."

Sam nods, still grinning.

"It'll be alright, Dean, you'll see."

Dean nods back and a grin forms on his face easily.

"Guess I won't be needing this," he cocks his head towards the bag of weapons, Sam laughs, Dean chuckles, and walks over to the kitchenette, carefully walking around the dead woman in the chair, and places the bag onto the kitchen chair.

He feels Sam's eyes boring into his back.

Dean makes a big show of making the coffee, hustling and bustling about, making sure that Sam can see his exaggerated hand movements and hear his whistling – he's OK with this, although there's a dead body on a chair in the room and his brother's a vampire, he is _fine_ – and then takes two cups of coffee to the room.

He sits on the bed opposite Sam and lifts up his cup of coffee to clink it with Sam's, who does so with his, looking amused.

"To …" Dean's eyes automatically flick to the dead body and he determinedly takes them back to Sam's face. "To new beginnings and working things out."

Sam nods, still looking amused, and drinks his coffee at the same time as Dean, his eyes fixed on Dean's.

When he opens his mouth Dean can see that his normal teeth have already grown back.

Dean puts his cup down. So does Sam.

They sit in silence for ten minutes, staring at each other. Dean's eyes keep flicking to the corpse in the chair.

When Dean slides the machete from out of his sleeve, Sam is ready, and leaps on Dean, yanking the machete from out of his grasp and throwing it over the bed.

"Get off me," Dean growls, but the vampire keeps him pinned to the bed with his body weight, grinning wildly, though looking slightly paler.

"Clever, Dean," the vampire says breathlessly. "But not clever enough. Did you think I wouldn't know what you were planning? I could practically _feel_ your blood pumping around your body faster and faster, I _knew_ you were gonna try to be the hunter you always have been despite the fact that I'm your brother, I _knew_ it," he says triumphantly.

"You're not my brother!" Dean hisses into the creature's face.

The creature masquerading as Sam laughs loudly, and digs his fingers into Dean's biceps, but not as hard as Sam would have done.

He puts his face down low so Dean's eyes are staring right into his.

"_Yes, I am._" The vampire hisses.

"No, you're _not_," Dean snarls, and then smirks. "Because my brother would have realised that the shit you just drank is laced with Dead Man's Blood."

The vampire's face turns paler and his grip on Dean weakens even more.

"What?" he whispers.

Dean grins, flips the vampire off him with his hips, sending him flying over the bed, then rolls off himself and onto the weakening vampire, who tries to throw him off to no avail.

"Dead. Man's. Blood." Dean says slowly, his grin widening. "_It's like poison to you, isn't it?_"

The vampire's green eyes widen (this is not Sam) and he says, no longer struggling "How can you do this to me, Dean? I'm your brother, your _Sammy_, I-"

"Sammy is dead," Dean cuts him off coldly, and his heart aches and he knows that he's got a few real bullets left in his gun. "He died the moment that vampire bitch sucked out his life and turned him into _you_."

The vampire glares Sam's glare at Dean, who keeps the vampire pinned down to the floor for hours until the undead life has completely faded away and all Dean is left with is the hollow knowledge that he was a hunter until the very end and his little brother's corpse under him.

* * *

_Choice Two_

Dean stands up slowly, clutching the bag to himself foolishly as a child would clutch a teddy bear, forcing himself not to take his eyes away from the blood around Sam's mouth.

No, it's the _vampire's_ mouth. Dean needs to keep reminding himself of this. Has to. He's free now and he's got the bag of weapons now and he must do what he has to do _now_.

Swallowing, he lowers the bag slowly, not taking his eyes away from Sam's amused face, and feels for the machete with his hand, and when he finds it, grasps it, and takes it out just as slowly.

He holds it in front of him like a light saber, and he can't believe that this is him and that is Sam and Sam is a vampire and this is actually happening.

Then he catches sight of the dead body in the chair and his resolve strengthens. This is _not his brother_. He has to do this.

"What are you gonna do, then, Dean?" Sam says softly. "Are you gonna do it? Do you think you can manage it? Kill me? Kill your little brother?"

"You're not him," Dean grounds out, but the words are an effort and he feels his grip on the machete slacken slightly.

Keep in focus, keep in focus, he scolds himself. This isn't Sammy.

Sam's face falls and he looks so hurt and _Sam_like that Dean's hands actually _shake_.

No, no, no, he can't _do _this, he can't lose his nerve, not now, this is what his life has been leading up to, practically, a true test of him as a hunter, a hunter to do his dad proud.

Like Gordon.

Gordon, who wasted his sister when she was turned.

Dean feels bile in his throat.

"Dean," Sam says quietly, "have I ever told you how much I look up to you? How much I care about you? How much I love you?"

"Shut up!" Dean snarls, his hands and the machete shaking harder. These were not Sam's words. These were the words of a vampire, a demon, they were _lies_.

Sam raises his eyebrows slightly and says, "Well, if you're going to waste me, I might as well get all the chick-flick shit out of the way, right? And hey," he laughs a slightly awkward laugh, "I _did_ get you to promise to kill me, didn't I, and I guess Winchesters don't break promises."

Dean feels confused – this _is_ Sam, it _must_ be – but also tormented by the fact that it's _not_ Sam, not really (is it?), and he's just trying to trick Dean into … into … into what?

Sam looks right into Dean's eyes and says the words Dean has been dreaming of hearing for years.

"I'm sorry I left you," he whispers, his eyes sincere.

Dean lowers the machete because his hands are shaking so hard.

He is not Dad, he is not Gordon.

Sam leaps forward, tackling Dean to the ground, and hits him, once, twice, thrice, yanking the machete out of his hand, laughing.

"_Bastard!_" Dean hisses and struggles, but Sam is faster, he laughs and twists Dean's neck and then Dean is dead.

* * *

Those are Dean's two choices, and Dean honestly doesn't know which to choose, although it should be obvious, so he makes a crucial mistake – he waits too long.

He spends too long thinking, just sitting there like a fool with a bagful of weapons, his mind like a broken record skipping over the line _what do I do what do I do what do I do what do I_

Until Sam chooses for him.

A few long strides and Sam is in his face, the bag is on the floor, Dean is held against the wall by two hands around his neck and he has missed his chance.

Sam – the vampire – Sam the vampire leans into Dean's face and breathes in deeply while Dean chokes.

"You smell so good," Sam says and Dean can't say anything. Sam grimaces then, turns his head and spits something out, but Dean can't move his eyes otherwise his eyeballs will burst, or so it feels like.

Still squeezing Dean's throat, Sam presses his lips to his brother's and forces his mouth open with his tongue, roaming it around his brother's mouth and moaning, and Dean can't breathe but at least now he knows why Sam looked at him like that back when he was human (when wasn't he human?) and right as he thinks that his tongue (yes, he's kissing his brother back, there's nothing he can do now, and all he ever wanted was his brother) ghosts over razor-sharpness and he can taste blood in his mouth and now Dean is really lost.

"Oh, Dean," Sam sighs, and Dean has never heard Sam sigh like that.

He fruitlessly, half-heartedly tries to punch, to kick out (he is a hunter, after all), but Sam – he catches sight of the dead woman and changes it to _the vampire_ – is too strong (he always wins at emotional blackmail too) and Dean blinks as his brother (is it Sam or a vampire? Sam or a vampire?) whispers against his lips, "Don't you love me?"

Dean can't do anything anymore and his vision is starting to blur around the edges and his mind is starting to work slower and … slower … than … usual …

"Yes," Dean whispers, and all he can see is _Sam_, and Sam's lips moving, asking him a question, and all Dean can think is 'it's _Sammy_' and repeats, "Yes."

Sam looks pleased, and the last thing Dean remembers before he wakes up with a new outlook on life is the glint of sharp teeth and the pain in his neck and his brother's eyes and the phrase _vampires mate for life_.

.End.


End file.
